


the reanimated

by ottermo



Series: As Prompted [70]
Category: Humans (TV)
Genre: Collab Week, Gen, POV switch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 12:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14308515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ottermo/pseuds/ottermo
Summary: ‘The memories were duller than they ought to be, and they came in scraps where she wanted to replay entire scenes. But they were still there. That was something. She was still alive, even in power-saving mode, as long as she could remember.’





	the reanimated

**Author's Note:**

  * For [turnedherbrain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnedherbrain/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Reanimator](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/370347) by turned-her-brain. 



> Day 5 of Collab Week was “POV Switch” Day, so this is a version of turnedherbrain’s ‘The Reanimator’, told from a different perspective. 
> 
> (though it’s actually slightly AU to the original, due to me starting before i had properly reread it. like a fool! so anita is in the house for some of it when she isn’t supposed to be. forgive me ♥)

Anita stood by the kitchen counter, staring at the opposite wall as the family conducted their meal. Her protocol settings dictated that she would only join them if invited to sit at the table. Mia was glad of that. If Anita began to move, she’d be powerless to stop it, of course, and would be forced to sit there among them, listening to them chat happily away to one another, a unit she was not part of. It was a cruel joke, that she found herself surrounded by a family, and yet lonelier than she had ever been since the day of her activation.

Partway through the meal, Sophie had turned the conversation toward the subject of superheroes. “I want to bring dead people back to life,” she’d said, solemnly, when asked what power she’d most like to have.

Anita’s hand became Mia’s for a moment, and closed around the corner of the kitchen counter. A file flashed through her head, the one she’d seen so many times before, all blues and greys and muffled wails. Anita tried to push the file away, but Mia fought back. It was important that she remembered these things. The more copies she made of these memories, the harder it would be for Anita to purge them completely. Painful as it was to review Leo’s death, it was better than giving him over to oblivion. He had existed. She hoped - she believed - that he existed still. Any outside stimulus strong enough to recall him to her was to be leapt upon and cherished, even if it was just an offhand comment from a five-year-old.

Bringing the dead back to life isn’t just fiction, Sophie, she wanted to say. At least, it isn’t for me. The only uncertainty is whether I’ll still know him, if I ever see him again.

“What about your superhero name?” Toby piped up from the table. “That’s the coolest bit – choosing your crime-fighting moniker. How about: ‘The Ree-ani-mate-toooorrr!’”

This was met with a hushed plea from Laura to _stop encouraging her_ , and a sarcastic comment from Mattie. Mia couldn’t help thinking that Sophie’s curiosity ought to be addressed more thoroughly than this. Adults often assumed children had no real concept of mortality, but even before his accident, the subject had fascinated Leo. Mia remembered having long discussions with him about life and death when he was not much older than Sophie.

It didn’t have to be morbid. She’d never scared him with the ugliest side of the truth, just answered his questions gently. Sometimes he asked her about things she didn’t quite know herself, like _what does it feel like to die_ and _why can a tree live so long and a person can’t?_ They had wondered about such things together. It had never been a dark and horrifying mystery. But perhaps life and death would always have meant different things to Leo Elster, son of David, than to any other human child. Perhaps it was unfair to compare them.

But she couldn’t help it. Sophie was the second child to enter Mia’s life, and her every action echoed Leo’s in some new and painful way. Mia’s attachment to the child was so strong that it had bled through to Anita: the co-profile might be vacant and emotionless in other matters, but she was overly attentive to Sophie.

Mia could only hope that it wouldn’t become any more obvious. Laura was already suspicious of Anita, though Mia couldn’t work out if she knew about Sophie’s mysterious nighttime excursion. Thank goodness Mia had gained enough control to turn Anita round before they went too far. They’d arrived back before the rest of the family were awake, and deep enough into Sophie’s sleep cycle that she didn’t stir as Anita changed her rain-soaked pyjamas.

Despite that stroke of luck, Laura had taken to storing Anita in the shed overnight, so she wouldn’t disturb the family’s sleep anymore. She was clearly suspicious of Anita’s intentions.

Which was ridiculous in itself. Anita _had_ no intentions. She was just stumbling blindly around using the barest hints of _Mia’s_ intentions as a guide. Even in situations where Mia desperately wanted her to follow protocol, Anita sometimes tapped into Mia’s core emotions and acted illogically instead. It needed to stop; they needed to distance themselves from each other. Yet Mia could not risk her memories being taken, she had to keep them active. It was impossible to strike a balance. Part of her hoped that she would eventually find one - but part of her wanted to always be at war, because that way she would have a chance of recovering herself.

That night, in the shed, Mia dragged more of her memories up to the surface, forcing them into the headspace she shared with Anita and watching them over and over. Flashes of her family’s faces, of laughter in corridors, the rustling of overgrown grass and the way sunlight reflected in Leo’s blue eyes, in Niska’s green ones, the feeling of Max’s arms around her and the gentle notes of Fred’s guitar, ringing out in a tune he’d composed himself. The memories were duller than they ought to be, and they came in scraps where she wanted to replay entire scenes. But they were still there. That was something. She was still alive, even in power-saving mode, as long as she could remember.

She was unaware of anything outside her own head for a long time, once darkness had fallen. Eventually, though, her sensors relayed a touch to her chin, which ought to have switched her on immediately. Something was jammed. It was no wonder, the way she was crumpled in the too-small shed. Her chin was pressing awkwardly against her shoulder, stopping the button from engaging properly.

Mia disabled power-saving mode herself, and listened. It was Sophie there with her in the shed - but it was still night, what was the child doing here? Was she in danger?

“Abracadabra!” Sophie said suddenly. Mia’s eyes were facing the wrong way, and since the Anita profile still thought they were in in shutdown, she couldn’t move her head to see what Sophie was doing. She didn’t sound distressed, at least. That was something.

“I am The Reanimator,“ Sophie whispered, in the deepest, most impressive voice she could manage. "I command you to wake.”

Something stirred Anita then. Perhaps the power button had finally engaged, or perhaps Mia’s residual activity had triggered a reboot, or… perhaps Sophie had superpowers.

One way or another, Anita woke. She unfurled from her corner to the sound of the startup noise. “Hello Sophie,” came the clear, measured voice. “How can I help you?”

Sophie looked delighted by her apparent success. “Would you like to go for a walk?” she asked eagerly. “I’ve got a superpower.”

Mia wanted to reach out, tousle the little girl’s hair and ask her all about it. Anita said, “How nice.” An auto-reply from a programmed list in a directory typed up by worker bees in a lab. Mia hated not being master of her own tongue. She had always thought hers was a visual mind, the mind of an artist: but since she had lost the use of her voice, she found herself drowning in unsaid words, almost constantly.

Anita got to her feet (Mia’s feet, they were Mia’s feet, standing in the Hawkins’ shed where she’d been abandoned like a disused lawnmower and it was all Anita’s fault) and said, “Sophie, you aren’t wearing any shoes.”

Splinters, Mia thought. Tiny bare feet on rough wooden planks. And she must have walked across the garden, too. What for?

Sophie seemed to notice her bare feet for the first time. “I was too excited to come and reanimate you,” she said, by way of explanation. “And it worked!” She looked suddenly pensive. “Anita… what does ‘reanimate’ mean?”  
  
“It means: bring back to life,” came the mechanical reply.  
  
“That’s my new superpower,” Sophie said solemnly. “Shall I show you?”  
  
“I think you should go back to bed. Your parents will be worried.”  
  
In this, at least, Anita was probably right. Mia sensed movement in her arm, then felt Sophie’s small hand in Anita’s as they slipped out of the shed and into the night. The moon shone above them, lighting their way across the lawn, through the soft, dew-covered grass and towards the house where Sophie belonged, where Mia might have, where Anita never could.  
  
Still, at least Anita couldn’t mind. Mia envied her that, sometimes.


End file.
